Dissension
by Black Th1rt3en
Summary: The Empire has existed for over a hundred years, and Aspen's family is just another victim to Dracula's reign when they all suffer an untimely death. The last living of her family and with a large secret, Aspen takes the mantle of Revolution into her own hands. Revenge and world domination are on the brink of reality, but neither side counts on what happens. ("what if" Dracula won)
1. 01: An Empire Rises

**I have never been quite so excited for a story as I am this one. I want to keep the AN short, however there are a few things I feel that are necessary to state before you go on.**

 **This story is nearly completely AU - there will be many references to "Van Helsing" and "Bram Stoker's Dracula" as well as some details pulled from some other sources, those mainly being "The Vampire Diaries", the "Underworld" series, and a few things I've done some research on. I am absolutely in love with "what if the villain won" AUs and this has been no exception. World domination on a large scale by one of my favorite characters sounds less like a nightmare and more like a dream come true- to me, at the very least. I've imagined doing it with many other fandoms: "Avatar: the Last Airbender", "Harry Potter", "The Patriot"—just to name a few. This idea has recently shot off in my head due to reading a wonderful book called "In the Time of the Butterflies" and I decided I could not ignore my wish to write of revolution any longer, and so I took on this project.**

 **My other story will most likely be abandoned, because I think a fresh start is in order, and this idea will be entirely more appropriate for what I have planned. A few things I had hoped to incorporate in "Checkmate" will be added into here, but even this will be a large divergence of that. You will find small similarities between the stories if you have read it.**

 **This story is rated "M" because I always like to play it on the safe side, as there will be mentions/descriptions of graphic death, sexual interactions, fighting, cussing, and nearly anything else horrible you can think of. It makes the atmosphere more attuned to the story, but heed my warning.**

 **Lastly, I should like to think that my writing has improved, but I have yet to reach the level I wish to, which is to become a successful independent author. Gotta start somewhere, and I'm hoping some experience from a large plotted story like this will help. I should also state that despite my in depth research some things may be flawed, so please don't flog me for it.**

 **All other details should be well explained in the writing, but I'm hoping to keep a certain degree of ambiguity in this project. I don't own "Van Helsing" or any of the characters in it, however I do own my OCs and my plot. I've also decided to add a playlist at the end of each chapter to give insight into my writing, this one being an exception. I should also like to inform everyone that I may go back and change some chapters after writing them, but it will just be an alternate way to deliver the information I've already written.**

 **So without further ado, I present to you...**

 **DISSENSION**

 **01 :** _AN EMPIRE RISES_

Nearly a century ago one of the singularly most elaborate schemes had succeeded by a complete monster, and to the general people, a legend of lore. It was a true triumph over God, one that would forevermore change the world. And oddly enough only a handful of people had been privy to the catastrophe that had tipped the scales of balance to favor evil, and most of who had were no longer among the living. The world had spun on as one of the most vital happenings in history transpired, and to some the outcome was a victory, but to most it was a loss. Perchance one of the greatest.

Yet the world still did spin on. Maybe that was what hit the hardest.

Despair swept over Europe, as the Empire of the Devil's Son had started in Romania, and no sooner would it consume the entirety of the continent than it had that single country. Few had known of the existence of the paranormal, and even less were ready for when the world fell like one falls asleep—slowly, and then all at once.

First Romania, then bordering countries like Bulgaria, Ukraine, Greece, Austria, and then even Germany, Poland, the Czech Republic, Italy, Turkey, and France. Nothing could stop the power that Dracula held, or the momentum with which he claimed land and entire people's under him. Human slaves that would serve an inhumane ruler, a description used in every sense of the word. The finest among the populace would be picked, and with them he created an army. And from afar the remaining trestles of societies that sought to end Dracula could only remain in secret, finding no sense to band together. They watched as everything they worked to accomplish crash and burn before their very eyes.

His children had helped vanquish enemies, but none to this day remained—the power of Frankenstein's Monster unable to sustain most past the adolescent stage of their lives. Science and witchcraft was still the answer, and to this day Dracula had enlisted a squadron of the best of each sector to find the solution, one that was nearing completion. His children had helped win the war, and as a reward for the success he would find a way to keep his next heirs alive. Forever.

As a result of this dedication, science came far in the supernatural realm, and Dracula had managed to get ahold of many serums that allowed him to create hybrids and Lycans, both of which were completely loyal to him upon their birth, unable to defeat him, and were willing to get their hands dirty at a single snap of his fingers. His Empire was secured in every physical manner, reinforced with the dark magic of mages and witches; an army of bloodthirsty paranormals at every gate to protect and fight at will; laws, punishments too. The whole nine yards. Victory was truly, very nearly his. His undead children were the only final checkpoint.

There was also the victory of time—Dracula had successfully killed the last of the Valerious line. That was a triumph he savored most specially, and with Aleera at his side, ruling had become almost bittersweet in the best sense. Alas the red headed beauty did not entertain him enough despite all her efforts, and another came along who caught his gaze: a Greek noblewoman who was human, but after a single night with Dracula had become his queen. Her name was Arianna, and she had many of the same traits as Aleera, except unlike her new sister, Arianna was much better at hiding her emotions and desires, though Dracula nearly never objected when she made them known. Two beautiful queens at his side ruling an impenetrable empire and the last of his blood enemies defeated.

Why then could he not obtain the one thing he wanted most? The single thing he possibly longed for even more than power, or even his children. But it was God's punishment to him. One he would suffer until he would repent for all his wrongdoings, but that day would never seem to come, and so Dracula was to suffer the greatest and most ironic punishment of all: even with all the power in the world he could not obtain what he truly desired. This anger at the repeated attempts, with the same horrible results left him incensed with rage, and his Empire bore his fiery wrath. If that variable remained to always elude him, then the people below him would know no mercy. That was Dracula's punishment back.

God had been a heavy source of refuge in this time more than ever, but Dracula took that away from them too—banning anything of such holy nature, and stating it was treason against the Empire and punishable by death. Many did stop, but those who remained steadfast in their beliefs were made examples of. Any sort of revolution was squandered easily, hope seeming to have deflated from everyone like a popped balloon. But there was always something stirring, something beneath the surface that would remain unseen, and for a while it did, but the larger the secret, the harder it is to keep.

The new world Order had been instituted, and there was no room for any nonsense against it. Dracula had waited for over four hundred years to sit atop the world and watch it bow at his feet, and he would not have a silly rebellion sweep across the Empire and question his power. Any speak of revolution equaled death, and many did die in its name, but only claimed the mantle of martyrdom in secrecy: pictures decorated gaily with flowers and golden thread, pictures of cherubs sitting among them as guides for the souls to enter the heavens.

This penalty in all actuality had the opposite desired effect. Give the people nothing and they will steal; give the people a gun and they will kill; give the people a reason and they will start a revolution.

That is one of the singlemost beautiful things of human nature despite all its sin and grittiness. Against all odds there is always room for hope, and that was what most clung to as the days went on, even when things only changed for the worst.

Development in technological items halted in the Empire, and even other parts of the world. Many countries had defaulted to defense, building up their walls to keep the monsters out instead of focusing on the innovation of things to reach the basic level of potential. They seemed to be stuck in an era—and era of fear and blood where nothing felt safe anymore, and that's what it was named. Dracula would come, everyone knew they would, and when they did they would have to be prepared.

That was another thing so beautiful about humans. Despite all their differences they unite for a single cause, even if victory seems too far out of reach.

Alas with the introduction of the otherworldly into the mortal realm, humans were not the only ones fighting for their freedom. Werewolves had a large target painted onto their backs, as did witches and warlocks of light, and the few rogue vampires, hybrids, and lycans that that betrayed their purpose in the Empire. Comparability was necessary, but there were outliers on either side—human or extraterrestrial—that were reluctant to accept the sudden and forced intermixing in society. Tension was high, and trust between these groups was scarcely existent. Time did bring them together out of desire to survive, but by then both numbers had been shorted majorly, as the weakest of them all had been weeded out. Or the ones that had been caught.

Rumors of a secret society that were plotting to take back their freedom, but the details of their existence were either largely exaggerated or just a bit off from the truth, and it was hard to tell which from which. They had done nothing yet, though others had tried. Small skirmishes that had been stomped out like a small flame under the boot; some of these riots were said to be part of this secret order, but it had never been confirmed by fact, and so the resistance remained a myth. For now.

And so Dracula prospered. His kingdom had grown to the size of the Roman Empire so many years ago, except there was no sign of crumbling. It was a stable place despite all its cruelty and gloominess, a place that, though it always felt dark and damper by default, the only good thing was the government, and that happened to be the only fault as well.

A feudal system had been instated and the gaps in the classes were large, especially between the scarce middle and even scarcer upper castes. Lavished with luxuries imported from other countries, castles and exotic goods that made going around the world accessible at home. While the middle and lower people had to fight for jobs and survival, even amongst themselves sometimes. There was a certain dishonor that was associated with further screwing over your fellow people, even more so now than before. As so, crime rates had dropped on their own accord, not because of the many many guards that roamed the streets, even though Dracula did credit that to himself.

The sun was hiding over the horizon, a mere part of its usual shining brilliance peaking over the line, hiding behind layers of dark clouds. A shadow had set itself over the cities of the Empire, but Budapest most of all. It was the capital city, and therefore the center of all activity one could imagine. Here despair was more threatening than the living conditions, as few were admitted through the walls, and even less were allowed out. But even that became the natural order of things over time.

With night nearing, however, fear and despair mingled like two unwanted lovers in the streets, and people began hiding away in whatever shelters they could manage to ward off the darkness and everything that came with it. To these people, monsters were very real, and they walked among them.

Doors were locked, windows were shut, shades and curtains were pushed over everything that allowed a view into the street. Candles and crosses were taken out of cabinets, never a bit of dust on any part of them. Small things that, if Dracula wished so, would do nothing to stop him and his men, but it was the little reassurance people got to sleep through the night. They were not completely defenseless, and so many people turned to God.

A heavy dispatch of men had disembarked unto the streets this night, ordered so under the assumption that there would be revolutionaries lurking about at this very time. In all actuality it was a show, placed to distract from the fact that their king would be walking these cobble lined paths with few guards there to protect him. Subtly was a necessity for this occasion, and should he need to fight, Dracula was certainly willing to do so.

His destination was Town Zero, or rather, what remained of it; named so due to the utter lack of structure and life, this place had been an example set by the Empire, and few were willing to live among such a depressing sight. They would much rather be at risk in the streets than reminded of such horrors as they saw here.

At the center of it all stood a cracked statue, prior to the era of blood it had been known as the Liberty Statue, but now all that remained was pieces of a once grandiose granite pedestal the copper piece had sat upon. The engraving was missing as well, having been stripped from the base of the structure to where only a crater of the missing piece was left. Now the statue represented what had been taken from them—what they no longer had. It was shameful to look upon. Dracula looked at it with pride.

He was steady as he crossed these grounds, a placid expression on his face as he quite nearly drifted across the piles of rubble, looking as if he didn't quite touch the ground with every step. His blue eyes seemed to glow in the darkness, which had no effect on his vision and the precise detail of everything he saw. A cloaked figure stood at the center, his shawl covering the light the lantern in his hand shed. It was not a shape he recognized but that didn't stunt his momentum as he made his way to the character.

The guards surrounded the area, uneasy with the lack of protection directly about their master, though they would never doubt his skill in defending himself. It was a matter of loyalty, and that was why they discarded any of these feelings and stayed put, ready to come at hand if the time called. Dracula wouldn't call, he could smell from afar that this silhouetted frame was only a man, one with blood in his veins and a beating heart that he could rip out with ease.

The cloaked figure turned to face the feared man of legend that ruled their Empire with an iron fist. He had summoned Dracula through an anonymous letter, though by an alternate method the Devil's Son had managed to deduce that this was an enemy of his enemy, and therefore an ally by certain means. He just had to determine on what level. It had not even crossed his mind to consider the invitation when his three witches, who had no inkling of the matter because he had not told anyone, prompted him to go. They had remained ambiguous as to why, but given the nature of their prophecies and their unyielding accuracy, Dracula had accepted.

The man fell to his knee when Dracula approached him, then put the lantern down and stood up, drawing his hood back to reveal a face.

Dracula knew such a face almost immediately. This was the face of a man who wanted power, and by the gleam in his eyes and smirk on his gaunt face, he would be achieving it through betrayal.

"My lord, I'm humbled to be in your presence. I admit I was not confident you would make an appearance." Dracula's face remained like slate, but the man was unperturbed by the lack of emotion. Weakness would make his plan faulty, it was by chance enough that Dracula had arrived, he couldn't muck it all up now.

"Don't flatter yourself, I'm here on account of shared interests: your letter states that you have vital information on the the rag-tag people who believe they can destroy my Empire."

"I'm afraid to contradict that statement, my lord." The man replied, earning a look of questioning disbelief from Dracula. "This Order was a joke, but in recent years it has grown to a size that is a considerable threat. Nothing my liege cannot handle, of course, but if you undermine their power they may catch you by surprise." He went on to explain.

Dracula was not keen on the man's attempts at appealing to his power, but he had to admit that he was refined in his actions and confident in his words despite being a mortal. And if the witches had urged him to meet this man then Dracula would hear his pleas through and through. "What are your sources of this information? For all I know you could be making this all up and trying to beguile me for personal gain."

"With all due respect my lord, I do not think I could trick you into designing a story of my imagination." The hooded figure replied.

"So you would think to flatter me as you have? Flattery is, in most pretenses, false words packaged with a pretty bow." Dracula could not hide the slight hiss from his words, though he remained otherwise calm. "Why should I believe someone who is earnest in flattery rather than the truth?"

"My father always said flattery makes friends and truth makes enemies, but I believe small dosages of both make life-long allies." The man smirked, his oval eyes squinting as the grin on his face became more severe. Dracula noted the way he said 'father' with a detached and bitter tone.

Then, small as it was, a smirk did drag its way onto Dracula's face, but only at the corners. He was impressed by the ambitious nature of this mortal man, but even more curious as to what he intended to gain. Dracula had a few guesses, but it was so much sweeter to hear it straight from the horse's mouth. "Your father is a wise man." He said decisively, watching as a shadow fell over the man's face.

"My father was a wise man, but now he is no more than a fool." He spat bitingly, teeth bared and eyes blazing.

Dracula's smirk widened, undaunted by the man's sudden flare of anger. "What's your name? You did not give it in the letter." The man told him his name, and not after the final syllable had been said was Dracula's spidery fingers wrapped tightly around the man's throat tight; enough to cause alarm but not so that his esophagus would be crushed, albeit one wrong word and it could become reality. Dracula's infamous wrath had boiled to the surface, and it showed in every harsh line and cold glint on his face. He looked almost demonic, and sounded similarly as he snarled in the man's face. "Do you think I'm a fool? Son of a public enemy, a man I cannot kill but constantly humiliates me, and you expect me to trust you?"

The cloaked man grappled at the iron hold around his throat. His eyes were bulging in his head, but he was not completely scared. Despite himself Dracula was impressed once more.

"I do not wish to be known as his son anymore, my lord." His voice was gruff and low from the lack of air. "I wish to become immortal, and make a legacy that my father dreamt for but will never obtain. He is a traitor to the Empire, and I do not wish to be like him. I have already severed all ties with him and any other members of the Order and I will bring valuable information to your attention, things that will certainly help you in crushing them."

A growl made its way up Dracula's throat, curling at his lips as his glowing blue eyes stared deep into those of the man in his vice grip. "Immortal? What makes you think I will give you such a gift? Or, even, the opportunity to start anew?"

The man grinned, and the impressive notions he'd associated with this man's bold nature evaporated into annoyance. It was spiteful in his blind rage. "I can give you the names and locations of the Order's most valuable people, or anything else my lord requires."

There was no measure of falseness in the man's eyes, only layers of hatred and a desire for revenge. Dracula released him, regaining the unimpressed and condescending facade as he looked at the gasping man who was struggling for air. "Speak."

He made a show of rubbing his throat but did not hesitate in fulfilling Dracula's request. "There are three that I believe are of urgency to execute, but above them is a man who could single handedly change the likelihood of the revolution's success." Dracula said nothing, and the man took that as a signal to go on. "His name is Hector Voltaire, and he resides in the Bulgia province. He is a scientist, a chemist, even, and he has developed many serums that will be unleashed to weaken vampires, Lycans, and hybrids alike. Currently he is working on something that will humanize the creatures, and if the correspondences are accurate, something that will kill purebred vampires." The man did not wish to further say that he even planned to make a poison able to kill Dracula himself. It was impossible to, and therefore of little worry for the King's knowledge.

"And do you have proof of this other than your words?"

"I do not have the direct correspondences, my father must have become recently suspicious of me, for he wisely hid them away. But I did manage the addresses of nearly all the major members, diagrams of the basic serums, and a few other things that may prove of importance to my lord." He said somewhat proudly.

Dracula stared at the man, his face entirely unreadable before half of a devilish smirk broke out onto his face. The witches hadn't failed him, this trip was quite worthwhile, even if this man could be irksome. "And by what name do you wish to build this legacy upon?"

"Jude Mirrikh, my lord." He managed to hide his bravado behind a cool face, one that Dracula managed to see straight through.

"Such a similar variation of your previous name," Dracula commented offhandedly, the cloaked man's face fell, and he looked as if he was about to respond when Dracula continued on. "It is of no matter, it is but a small detail that can be overlooked with time. I hope your blood doesn't have the flavor that a traitor's does, I've never fancied the aftertaste." Before the man could blink, or even process the information, Dracula had grabbed him by the shoulders and, fangs elongated, sunk them into the flesh of his neck.

It did taste absinthal, but it was a small price for the victory that would come when he extinguished this order once and for all.

One step at a time it would crumble, but he would start with Hector Voltaire. Without a sturdy foundation, no structure could stand for long.

A worthwhile trip, indeed.


	2. 02: The Scion

**Two chapters in a day to get the story started. Chapter three is underway now. Last chapter I forgot to thank my loyal beta MissVD for reviewing my work, I don't know where I'd be without her. Anyways, enjoy the beginning of the story. It will seem slow at first but the following chapters really begin to pick up speed. There were no notable songs that inspired this chapter, so just enjoy.**

 **DISSENSION**

 **02:** _THE SCION_

The day is July 4th, 1998, and it happens to be one of the few things unchanged anymore.

She hardly remembers the importance of a date as of present, the thought seems hardly vital to her given what gloomy clouds hang in her head. The date doesn't earn money or keep a family safe, but it does provide an inkling of order in a world where you are powerless. Perhaps that is why people cling to it so.

There was something stirring in the trestles of her home. The structure seems to shift at the base, and Aspen entertains the thought that there is a monster in the rafters above her. She has long since stopped believing in the boogeyman, or that a fiendish ghoul will steal her away into the darkness—never to see the light of day again. Yet sometimes she catches herself staring at the corners of dark rooms, drifting off into her childish fantasies that she will finally see the something and her fears will all be realized. They never were.

When she was but a child she would stand where she stood now, clutching the leather bindings of a bible wondering where the world had gone wrong. Before her grandfather's death, he would spin her tales of a world that was free, one where men governed each other, and there was no supernatural presence to tip the scale. She would be living in Bulgaria now had the world not fallen to the hands of the Devil's son. She would cry whenever she'd hear his title, and she began to believe that he was worse than the boogeyman that haunted her dreams.

Aspen has long since grown out of the shoes of her younger years in every sense. She no longer fears the dark, or mourns the idea of Bulgaria. She does still consult the Bible, even if it was outlawed, and she still believes the ruler of The Empire to be worse than the boogeyman, only now she knows that one of them is undeniably true. And to add to this whole ordeal, she is bordering on the cusp of becoming a lady—her eighteenth birthday nearing in less than a week. A large celebration is usually in order when a girl makes the right of passage to an adult, free to the world and able to make something of her life. Aspen does not feel as excited as she should.

There is the other doubting thing, though: for years she has heard tales of the world before the era of blood, one which is now only transcending into another. The world has always been a violent place, but never as much as it has in the last century, and she has been told this many times. Growing up in this time makes her feel less human than she is, because she rarely sees the world but through a small scope. This home has been her cage for eighteen years, albeit it had been a pleasant one, and when she leaves it she will be entering a larger cage that encompasses the world.

A bit of dust falls from above, landing next to her as the house creaks again, but now louder. Aspen begins to think that maybe in this sense of mind, she is the monster.

A bird swoops down in a blur of deep blue and twists through the air and out the door. Aspen is mesmerized with its movement, and the freedom with which it leaves this house to explore the world on open wings.

There is a distracting movement under her feet. Aspen peels her eyes from where the bird had been and looks down at Dog, her dog (she was not very creative with naming as a child, and it stuck). For a moment there was a blank expression on her face, but eventually her eyes soften from stone to the warmer gray shade they usually are, and she crouches to scratch at the scruff of his neck. His tail begins to wag harder, and at her pup's enjoyment, Aspen's smile grows larger. "You must like that don't you?" He whimpers back to her, and all the fear that had clutched her whisks away.

Sometimes she wonders if what she fears anymore exists. Her fear is of the unknown, of what her future may hold when she leaves the house of her childhood. The world always seemed a scary place from afar, she cannot imagine it being any better up close.

"Are you hungry?" Dog wails his tail harder at the mention of food, "of course you are. Let's get you a little treat."

Two steps and she is in the kitchen. Another two and she is standing amidst all the food her father bought on his last trip to town. Fresh cow that has been dried and salted is sealed in a tight plastic package, Aspen tears off a piece and throws it in the air for Dog to catch before gnawing on a piece of her own. Jerky was a good way to start off the day, and it tasted good enough to save herself from her own thoughts.

She sits down at the table, Dog laying at her feet, staring at her with big eyes that beg for another piece. Aspen petted him idly, her mind drifting from the window where she looked out.

Dog, upon cognizance that getting another snack was strictly not an option, quickly got to his feet and padded to the door, pawing at it with a piteous look on his scraggly face. Aspen sighed resignedly before clambering over to open it, and with the sudden gap available Dog scampered out into the backyard that stretched across the expanse of their land. She stood there for a few long moments, letting the breeze press against her skin as she rocked absently on her heels, there was a creaky board at the foot of the door frame. Aspen smiled as Dog frolicked carelessly in the meadow, sometimes she wished she could be so free as him, and in every sense of the word. But she would content herself to taking pleasure in the small things that tethered her to reality, like this little creaky board.

For now.

Shortly thereafter she found herself joining Dog, only she wasn't running around. Aspen had a special spot in mind, frolicking around in the meadow could wait.

Not three hundred feet out from the backdoor to her home was a large oak tree, its trunk a twisting mass of jagged bark with leaves that rivaled the vivaciousness of a rainbow. It was a favorite destination of daily life, the constant unrelenting escape that never ceased to comfort her in times where it felt necessary. Perhaps her favorite part was the hollow center, which was hard to notice unless you moved a patch of grass away from a certain part of the tree. Here Aspen deemed an appropriate place to hide things that were outlawed by the Empire, and there were quite a few.

Scripts made up most of the list, ones like the Bible and the Count of Monte Cristo. At least those "inspiring" texts were forbidden to the lesser classes, not that any well-heeled person would dare own it.

Among the rest of the outlawed items were other random things: crosses of course, capsules of venom, pure silver weaponry, rubies, vervain, oaken stakes, and a long, extended list that she didn't care to remember. Actions too were prohibited by law, most of them being acts against the Empire or studies of witchcraft that wasn't under a licensed witch or warlock. Still, all of these things and more were viable with treason, trial, and execution no matter who you were.

All that mattered to Aspen was that no one found out of her indulgence in that bit of rebellion, that control that she held in her life was through the wonderful tale spun by Alexandre Dumas. A story of great adventure, romance, revenge, overcoming everything at all odds. She loved it, and she envied Edmond above all despite his many obstacles; he was fearless enough to overcome them, to defeat his demons and still come out an admirable character.

Aspen knew it could be worse—her life could be worse. There was always the possibility of something worse, and in this world she knew second hand that safety was never guaranteed. Rarely was she permitted to leave the town for the sake of risking immunity and virtue, and even then Donovan and father were usually accompanying her, never allowing her too far out of sight. She was guaranteed security in this life, but was it a quality even worth living? That was a question that seemed more frequent in her life, especially as of late. She shouldn't really complain, but she always did. Secretly.

There were times when she would muse that it wasn't possible for Donovan to be content either. He was much less controlled than she as it was, and yet he maintained nearly the same level of arid lifestyle as she. The only relief he got was through his weekly excursions to town, receiving letters via his messenger hawk, or the sporadic visits from Gregori Cato, who gifted Donovan with the hawk, her with The Count of Monte Cristo, and gave them both lessons on sword wielding and bow shooting.

Gregori was perhaps her only source of life to the outside world, but even he didn't speak of it often. "Dark things like that should not possess a happy conversation in a place like this." And no matter how much he pleaded he would always say no, but Aspen never held it against him. He would bring gifts and tell her tales, but he always bore bad news, things that were for secret ears but she secretly listened into as best she could. It was another bit of freedom she could have for herself, something that, though she didn't understand most of what Gregori said, she could always feel that tingling rush of excitement in her bones.

Her back was pressed against the trunk of the tree, the book opened in her hands as her legs spread out on the ground, Aspen flipped open to a random page in The Count of Monte Cristo and began reading.

The air was dry but warm, and the cool air coinciding with it made her feel refreshed and almost otherworldly. She could imagine the harsh winds were from the seas that she sailed, or perhaps from the mountaintops high in the clouds where only God's graceful touch could reach. A place where her mother was still alive, and not the victim to murder as she had been.

Her graying interlude ended when Dog jumped into her lap, his large head peering over her book as he craned his neck to lavish her face with sloppy kisses. "Awe c'mon Dog, your breath smells!" She giggled, petting him as he playfully attacked her.

Over the clamor of the dog, Aspen didn't notice an approaching shadow, who was sporting an amused smile at the sight of his sister and the family dog tussling. His inner turmoil was not as complex or realized as her, but he faced many of the same problems as she: a spiceless life.

"Did I miss the betting time? I have all my money that Dog will win."

Aspen barely managed a glance in her brother's direction as Dog continued his assault on her. She was still laughing hysterically, but after managing to twist her hand to reach the junction where his head met his body she scratched furiously, and Dog dropped on the ground, panting in pleasure. "I guess you owe me all your money then, brother dearest." She said smugly, flashing him a playful smile.

"But I didn't bet." He pointed out, mirroring her haughty tone.

Aspen quirked a brow, holding his gaze but still keeping Dog subdued. "Backing out on your word already? How very dishonest of you."

Donovan rolled his eyes, "It's nearly lunchtime," he began, ignoring her subsequential eye roll at the sudden topic change. "Fancy fixing me a sandwich?"

"You are perfectly capable of making a sandwich yourself Donovan." Aspen said idly, "You have two hands, put them to use."

"What if I sweetened the deal and said make me and father a sandwich?"

She didn't even have the good grace to look slightly considering, "That is not going to help your case."

"Oh your poor husband is going to be sorely neglected," he pouted, a hand on his chest. "You will pay more attention to the dog than his needs, I pity him."

"Perhaps," Aspen began, "I shall marry rich and won't have to tend to my husband's needs. If he's anything like you there will be quite the long list."

"Pray then that he is not like me," she looked at him questioningly, and he went on to clarify. "—because I find it highly unlikely you will marry anyone at all, let alone a nobleman."

Her eyebrow quirks at his playful tone. Innocent teasing as usual between them, but she can't help but feel slightly challenged, even if she doesn't disagree. The life of a pompous aristocrat's wife does not appeal to her in any way—all her life she had been put to hard work, calloused hands and sinewy muscles her attestment to this. She had never been pampered nor lavished with opulence, she did not think she could get used to it now. "Oh?"

He smirked, she took the bait. She always did when he had that challenging lilt in his voice. "Yes, quite a tragedy, really. The only daughter and our poor father will never see you married off."

"What makes you think any woman would want to marry you?" She said, indignant, arms weaved over her chest. "You're hardly capable of holding an intelligent conversation."

Donovan scoffed, "Unlike you, other women do not entail intelligent conversation as a requirement to becoming your significant other."

She visibly glowered at his jibe, eyes rolling (again) despite the good nature behind their banter. "Consider other women boring then," Aspen's ironic smile was reflected on her brother's face, poisoned first by genuineness before the two started laughing. She stopped first, still chaperoning a large grin as she went on, no longer feeling lost in her sea of thoughts. "Now, was there any real purpose for you harassing me or was it just to entertain you?"

"Mainly to entertain me, sister mine." He approached her, ushering her to stand before slinging an arm around her shoulders as he directed her on the path back to their home. Dog scampered up to trot beside them, seemingly unaffected by the sudden lack of attention to him. "But that is not the only reason. Father wished to see us both—something about a business transaction or whatnot. He's cutting it close with the taxers coming around anytime now, but you know how he is."

Aspen did know. Lately her father had been lacking in precaution to the dates scheduled for the Empire's taxpayers to come around and collect money. Her family lived in a small province more than one thousand miles from the capital city, Budapest, and as a result the taxpayers were more lax. Often coming around on improvised times, expecting families to have their dues ready despite the set date being later. The punishments for not paying on time were harsh, but thankfully Aspen's father had never missed a payment. Albeit he was beginning to cut it close.

"I do, and he's really beginning to scare me. Someone is going to hear him and all his patriotic talk and report him to the guard."

"Father's not wrong though, you know how righteous father is in complaining about the state of our country. We're not free, not under a monster of a tyrant. We're hardly even people to him—just bloodbags and slaves that keep his precious empire running." He hissed in disgust, spitting out the words like they were poison on his tongue.

"I know Donovan." Aspen said, squeezing his arm in comfort. "We all do. There's just so little we can do about it, we hardly even survive with all that we have to pay."

"I despise him." He said flatly.

"I know."

"No—despise doesn't even begin to describe how I feel: I hate him with ever fiber of my being."

She grinned at him from the corner of her mouth, "Yes, I know."

They stopped walking, and Donovan looked at her, a very serious expression on his face. He looked so grimly unfamiliar like that, not like the playful brother that stood tall as her idol but was not afraid to stoop to acting like a child to improve her bad moods. He was a good man like that. "I love you, you know that, don't you Aspen?"

"Yes," she smiled, "I know."

He mirrored the smile again, and anyone looking at the two would hardly have been able to tell them apart. "Good."

The two looked so alike despite their minor differences. The same long nose, high and sharp cheekbones, though Donovan's were more so than his younger sister's. They both had the same gray eyes, but Aspen's didn't hold the flecks of blue her brother's had. And then there was the hair: the fiery red hair that could have born straight from a Phoenix's wings. The only other significant detail being the large red mark behind Aspen's right ear, which held no other importance despite its existence. Still, they were quite a sight standing side by side as they were.

And that was how their father, Hector Voltaire, saw them as they approached the detached building, which was his workplace, or rather as he liked to call it, his Mind's Palace. A place where he experimented, created, and supported their small family of three. When Aspen had first been introduced to it there were three rules: do not limit yourself in any way, even the Empire's laws shan't be abided here; nothing is impossible, and any limit you wish to reach is reachable; there is to be no touching of anything unless someone is dying, there is a fire, or a revelation is at hand. The final was pressed the most often: under no circumstances will you touch the Book.

The Book was an old, old thing that remained in prime condition—not a page out of place, but obviously worn by time, as the cover and spine attested to. Their father was hardly not scribbling something in it, but whenever she saw him write it was hardly ever legible, and her skills of subtly reading were hardly agreeable. Little of its contents was known to her, besides the general assumption that it was something scientific and, as her father accredited himself, amazing and earth changing. It had to be if it was what provided her family, but he never shared much besides simple things when he needed help, which wasn't often. He worked best alone, and Aspen was just fine with letting him do so.

Despite all his preaching and her attempts to remain optimistic, Aspen couldn't help but think that nothing seemed to be changed, but she could hardly blame her father, what with him being a lowly man in a small town near the coast of the Bulgia province. She had faith in him and his research, even if others called it blasphemous.

Even now he had the Book tightly clasped in his hands, a pen in the other as he hurriedly scribbled down something. He seemed unaware of their presence. Aspen spoke up. "Father, you asked for us?"

He had, in fact, heard them come in. He paid them a glance but never stopped scribbling, finishing the thought before slamming the Book shut and setting it to the side, placing the pen haphazardly on top. There was a gleam in his eyes Aspen didn't like, and the furrow in her brow deepened. "There is something of dire need we must discuss. I wanted to wait many more years before bringing it to the table, but I cannot avoid the topic any longer. It would be cruel and unfair to the both of you."

The tension in the room felt palpable, crawling over their skin and inducing a feeling of dread and paranoia that left both Aspen and Donovan terror-stricken. "What are you talking about, father?" Donovan asked, his voice betraying the image Aspen held him to in his head. He sounded small, scared—completely unlike himself. And admittedly she felt the same way.

"Donovan you need to leave." Hector stated abruptly, his face hardening like stone as he looked at his son. "Prepare the horses and pack anything you can and take it with you, you are going to take your sister to Gregori's house after I'm done speaking with her. Anything she deems appropriate to tell you she will."

"Anything you have to say to me Donovan can hear too." Aspen stated smoothly, her voice free from the tremor that shook at her hands.

"You must make haste! They're coming now, I will send her out to you in ten minutes, and right when she leaves you must head off before they catch us all. I will join you as soon as I can, but your sister and yourself are the priority." Hector went on, ignoring Aspen's statement. "I cannot lose all of you."

"Father what's—" Donovan's voice did tremble, but Hector cut him off.

"Make haste, Donovan! Go now before they get us all! Ten minutes."

"Ten minutes." He echoed hollowly, head nodding as he bolted out the door, leaving Hector and Aspen alone in the Mind Palace.

Hector turned to Aspen, unwilling to waste anymore time than what had already been used up. "Many things must be discussed, but due to the vastness of subjects and the short length of time I'm provided with I will have to shorten the explanations considerably.

"Your mother was a witch, a very powerful one in fact who was born of a bloodline of some of the strongest magic wielders as history knows. When we first met in Bucharest it was the first thing she told me, but I was already enchanted by her and that slight didn't hinder my determination to marry her. The rest as you know is history." Aspen felt an explanation should have been entitled, but she kept her mouth shut and listened as her father went on. "Your mother had always had a knack for getting in trouble with the government, but her father was a very important figure and Dracula could not get away with killing her off on his own. She was very outspoken and as I soon came to know a very large Patriot in the rebellion, in fact she was one of its major players. And I, a man in love, followed her lead and joined the revolutionaries as well. It was small back then, a mere child compared to the enormity it is now. It has grown so much over the years, and it is reaching the point where people will begin to know it exists.

"I hold an active part in the Revolution, but my job is as a scientist, not a soldier. I'm on the brink of discovering something that may change the outcome of the revolution, and if they can kill me, they can halt the movement. Without the many serums I've developed the Order may not pose the threat they do now. But I'm the only one who knows how to make it, all my research is strictly for me."

"The less people to know the less likely the details of your work is to get out." Aspen rationalized in a small voice, her father nodding sharply in confirmation.

"It's why they're coming for me." He explained, his cold face melting into one of sorrow that made Aspen's heart clench. "Gregori managed to send a letter by hawk overnight, but it may be too late. I never wanted to put you or Donovan at risk, but your mother died for the cause, and I couldn't give it up without knowing I tried to avenge her sacrifice." Hector's voice dipped, and Aspen grabbed his hand and squeezed, determined to milk all the information she could from her father before it was too late.

"Gregori knows of this whole arrangement? What does he have to do with the Revolution?"

"Gregori is the head council member of the Order, and he happens to be your mother's father."

"Which means he's my grandfather..." Aspen realized.

"Yes it does." Her father conceded, sounding exasperated.

"Does that also make him a..."

"—A warlock? In fact it does, but the gene is very picky, and usually only stays with one gender in a family. It was quite the surprise to him when your mother inherited it." Hector looked pointedly at Aspen, and she felt something stir in her—the beginnings of true awareness, something that made her queasy and exhilarated all at the same time.

"Does that...does that mean...?" Aspen choked on her words, unable to find the suitable ones that could complete the statement.

"It does." Her father nodded in confirmation, a twinkle of pride in his eyes. "Some part of you is a witch, Aspen, and a very powerful one if your mother's genes persevered as I believe they have."

"But how is that possible?" Aspen asked, almost more to herself than her father. "Wouldn't I have noticed after all these years if I was a witch?"

"Not necessarily," he started decisively. "Some witches don't have powers that show until a certain age or life changing point in their timeline, but for precautions sake your mother managed to cast a spell on you that would allow your powers to remain hidden until you turn eighteen. By then you would have full control over them and they would be more in tune with your thoughts and less with your emotions despite your lacking usage of them. Your mother didn't wish anyone to find out that the legacy of Cato lived on, especially not through one of her children, and so it was the only way."

"Is Donovan magical?" Aspen asked, though she had an idea she knew the answer.

"No."

The sinking feeling in her grew, but she only managed a small "Oh". She suddenly felt less guilty that her brother wasn't present, that would've been quite a blow to him.

"There are a few final things I must tell you before you go. First off, matter what you have to know that I love you and your brother more than anything, and that not only did I pursue this cause for your mother but for the both of you. I also entrust this Book and all it's contents with you, anything that it holds is only for your eyes and whomever you allow to see it. And finally I'll tell you the key to winning this rebellion: love. A feather like feeling, plucked from the highest soaring birds in the sky that never touch the ground. That is the key to this book, to the rebellion, and to any other victory you seek.

"Now go."

He thrust the Book into her hands before pushing her towards the door. Aspen felt the pit in her grow, a mix of fear and confusion and despair at all that he had told her. "But father—"

"Now is not the time! Go, Aspen! Go! Remember it's in a feather, and remember that I love you." His eyes were wet with tears, and before she was fully out the door she wrapped her arms around his neck, letting out a sorrowful sob before pulling back. "Ride swiftly to Gregori, got to Debrecen with your brother."

"I love you papa. Please stay safe."

He nodded. "Go! I'll be right behind you!"

She didn't feel the wave of his reassuring words because they were hollow. As she sprinted to where Donovan stood, the Book clutched tightly in her hand, she knew that those had been her final words to her father, because despite all his promises, he wouldn't live to see the light of tomorrow. That responsibility weighed down on her, like a pit of acid in her stomach. She felt it burning in her abdomen, in her throat. But the sobs never came, and Aspen felt something in her that she never knew she had crack, and the world felt numb.

Through it all she felt her brother reach out, call to her. But she'd already set her horse in a harsh canter to the woods, trying to put as much distance between that feeling of desolate nothing and herself. Then, when she should next return, her childhood home and harbor to all her memories would be gone: a pile of ashes that would sweep away with the next gust of wind. And the feeling of emptiness she had before would never compare to then.

Aspen thought about this, and she pushed her mount to ride faster.


End file.
